


Decked

by tackytiger



Series: Drarry Drabbles [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fortune Telling, Harry Potter is a Brat, M/M, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29566218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackytiger/pseuds/tackytiger
Summary: Harry tells fortunes. Draco doesn't believe in that sort of magic.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Drabbles [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1394383
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Decked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dracoladon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoladon/gifts).



> Another wildly loose interpretation of the wordcount for today’s @drarrymicrofic prompt, Lunar. Loosely inspired by this art from the incredible @dragontamerdame - I’m writing a longer fic about this too though as I’m obsessed so this is only touching on that. And happy birthday to @dracoladon who is a superb writer and an all-round goodest of good eggs. Sorry this is only small but please accept Harry in a pointy wizard’s hat doing fortune-telling, with the best birthday wishes from me to you.

“It stands for… ummm, uncertainty?” Harry said, and Draco laughed before he could quite stop himself. Harry shot him a glower from under his pointed hat, mouth a petulant curl, and Draco still wanted to kiss him, which meant there was no hope for him at all.  


“You should really trust your instincts,” Harry went on, tapping the upturned face of the first card. The image was grotesque, a vicious crescent of moon pitted and desolate against a black backdrop, nothing scenic or serene about it.  


“You couldn’t find a nicer deck than this?” Draco picked the card up gingerly between two fingers, and Harry slapped his hand, gently but firmly, so that it fluttered back onto the velvet tablecloth.  


“You’re messing up my spread,” Harry said absent-mindedly, flipping two more cards over, then a third and fourth and fifth, swords and wands and a blank-faced Empress that reminded Draco of his mother. Harry was fast and decisive, peering at them as though he really thought they might mean something.  


“This isn’t magic,” Draco muttered, unnerved by the leer of the Devil, the endless looping tumble of the Hanged Man, the tentative touch and release of the Lovers.  


“What have you been up to, Malfoy?” Harry murmured, fond and exasperated, not looking up. “This is a mess.”  


“You’re a mess.” Draco took a long resentful swallow of his tea. “And this is ridiculous.”  


“It is,” Harry said, and reached across the table until he had Draco’s hand in his, fingers grazing the restless throb of Draco’s pulsepoint.  


“What, are you going to read my palm now?” Draco asked—though it came out quieter than he meant it to—but Harry just smiled and held on tighter.  


The flare of incense was thick in the back of Draco’s throat, and the rotund crystal ball on the corner table pulsed with a cool lunar light, and Harry turned over another card.


End file.
